


Dust

by relic_amaranth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gender-neutral Reader, Hugs, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 03:54:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14608725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: You’re having a rough time, and Chuck is comforting.





	Dust

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The itsiest, bitsiest little drabble. Because Rob Benedict looks so damn huggable and I have gone too long without a Chuck fic. Very generalized, and while I wrote it thinking of romantic, I don’t see why these can’t just be very close platonic cuddles, if that’s what you prefer.

  
 

You're shaking by the time you return home. But at least you made it home. That’s the important part, right?

…Maybe.

You kill the engine and take a few deep breaths in the silent, stifling cab, but the nausea doesn’t secede and you can’t stay in the car all night. Well, you could, but you don’t want to. You suppose. It’s hard to know anything, right now. You feel like you’re crumbling to dust but there’s not break in sight, no sign of collapse and the relief that can follow.

You glance at Chuck’s house down the way and think– but, no. Seeing him, seeing anyone, is just too much right now. You grab your bag and drag it inside, where you promptly drop it on the ground. You look around your home but it doesn’t feel like it should. Nothing does.

 

“Hey. Hey…” Chuck says your name and gently shakes your shoulder. You’re sprawled out on the couch and your brain is taking its sweet time in booting up. You’d rather it didn’t bother.

“Hey,” you manage to grunt. You consider playing at normal, but it seems exhausting. You turn your body to face the back of the couch.

Chuck, fuck him forever, lays his body half over yours in a hug. The nausea comes back, fierce and making it hard to swallow. “Ch– _Chuck_.”

“I’m here,” he murmurs. His soft hair brushes your forehead but then he tightens his arms around you and moves his head to place a light kiss to your temple. “I’m here.”

You shake your head but can’t bring yourself to push him away. He smells faintly of soap and strongly of old books and you want to hold onto him but you can’t, you _can’t_. “I don’t–”

“You do,” he hushes you gently. As your body shakes from the effort of holding back, he whispers to you. “It’ll be all right.”

You choke. “It _won't_.”

“It will,” he insists, still quiet and gentle. He rests his head on top of yours again, his lips barely brushing against the skin over your cheekbone. “It doesn’t feel like it now but I promise it will. And I’ll be here until it does.”

You swallow a lump of tears. It takes a few tries before you can actually say what you mean. “Only until?”

His laugh is soft and warm, like he is. “As long as you want me,” he says, “I’ll be here.”


End file.
